Holy Day
by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain
Summary: What happens when you turn a bunch of engineers loose on April Fools day? Rated R for language, possibly violence :). Don't worry, concurrent writing with Mirror, Mirror. No abandonment. Please R&R, and prank ideas gladly welcomed!
1. Thou Shalt

Disclaimer:  I do not own many of these characters.  The story is mine, and is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Note I:  I chose this P.O.V. specifically _because_ Hess is a character mentioned, but never seen or heard doing the show.  I wanted to have some fun.  For those of you reading my other stuff, I AM continuing with it, and this.  I'm writing both concurrently.  You will get the full stories.[1]  Oh, yeah.  It may be inconvenient in this format, but any readers unfamiliar with the writing of Terry Pratchett or Jasper Fforde:  it's better when you read the footnotes.

Author's note II:  For anyone who is curious about the change in tone between my previous work, and this one, please consider the following.  When Ryan Gosling finished working on _The United States of Leland_, he went to his doctor, as he found himself suffering some strange sickness.  The doctor listened to his symptoms, then asked him what he'd been doing lately.  Gosling told him about his work on _The Believer_, _Murder by Numbers_, and the film he'd just finished doing.  The doctor thought for a moment, then wrote something on his prescription pad and handed it across:  _Try a light comedy_.

            Not one to ignore doctor's orders, here goes…

*****  ****    *****  ****    *****  ****    *****  ****    *****  ****    *****  ****

            Zero hour.  0335.06 to be specific, but I'm not counting.  If I've calculated correctly, he should have just settled nicely into deep REM.

            "Crewman Bitten!  Where the fuck are you?"  I've cranked the intercom so that a dead, deaf person couldn't sleep through it.

            "Huh? What?" His confused response mixes with the angry comments of his bunkmates.  _They're_ unhappy about being woken up for someone else's mistake.  It's theirs too, for going to sleep.

            "You're _late_, mister.  You were supposed to be on duty fifteen minutes ago!  Unless you want to go on report…"

            "But I'm not supposed to be on shift right now."  There's no confidence in his voice; he doesn't know for sure.

            "I'm looking at the duty roster right in front of me, mister.  Are you calling me a liar?"  Actually, it's tomorrow's duty roster, but technically it is still a duty roster.

            There's some mutters and thumping from his end, followed by a loud thud.  Sounds like someone trying to tie their bootlaces and run at the same time and not quite succeeding.

            "Oh, Bitten," I say it as sweetly as I can; it's a tone which shouldn't be used on diabetics.  "April Fools."  Let the games begin.

            You've got to get up pretty early to beat me.  Honestly, it's probably a better idea if you don't go to bed at all, because I don't tend to on this day either.  April first and October thirty-first have to be the most important days on an engineer's calendar, if only because they're the only days where we're allowed to pull all the nasty little tricks we think of during the rest of the year.  There are rules of course; there have to be rules.  Left to our own devices (and boy do we love devices), engineers would probably reconfigure the universe, which isn't a good thing even on the best of days.  So, in the spirit of human survival, certain commandments were hammered out, and have been handed down to every engineering class since.  

I. Thou Shalt Be Creative 

            This is implicit in the whole thing.  The whole point of having engineers is to have people who figure out how to do things in an entirely different fashion.  You think Orville and Wilbur _invented_ flight?  No, they just built a machine that formed a less fatal alternative to jumping off cliffs.  You think Zephram Cochran _invented_ FTL travel?  No, he just found a way to allow _super_atomic particles to what certain subatomics had been doing since the universe first blew up (and you thought God wasn't an engineer).

            The point is, even if the _idea_ isn't original[2], the execution must be, or else it simply doesn't count.  Take what I just did:  despite the fact that it could be considered cruel; it's not all that unusual.  Rather it's a prank passed down in my family for generations – I just use it for a warm-up.  On the other hand, the time somebody (yeah, what_ever_ Mister Smarty Pants, Commander Tucker) made half of Starfleet Headquarters disappear with the use of a holographic generator does actually count, because no one had done it on that big of a scale before.[3]

II.Thou Shalt Not Cause Bodily Harm 

            Inflicting _mental_ harm is okay[4] (otherwise how could you prank?) but any intent to commit bodily damage is strictly verboten.  What constitutes bodily damage is a point hotly debated (don't even get me started on what constitutes intent) but the spirit of the commandment is this:  if it breaks a bone, draws blood or causes life threatening adverse reactions, and the result could have been foreseen, then it contravenes this commandment. 

III. Thou Shalt Not Involve The Innocent 

            Exactly what constitutes as innocent is hard to say.  Certainly, children are included in this group, as is the general public, insofar as it does anything _to_ them (they are certainly welcome to observe).  But does a non-engineering commanding officer count?  What about non-engineering sub-ordinates?  The general rule of thumb is to tailor your response to these questions to the individual.  In other words, don't prank someone like Captain Archer or Sub-commander T'Pol because they aren't likely to see it as a joke.  On the other hand, if you leave someone like Ensign Mayweather out of it, he's liable to be insulted.  As for anyone else:  if they know about this day (who doesn't?) and have not specifically requested that they be left alone… well, we can't be responsible for other people's stupidity.[5]

IV.  Thou Shalt Not Endanger Others 

            If this seems to echo Commandment II, it is because we sometimes need to be reminded of minor details such as this.  Actually, it's an expansion on II, because while II deals with the specific, IV deals with the general.  In other words, setting up a prank that would ultimately disable the warp engine, or the weapons?  Not considered to be a good idea. 

            Oh, did I say those were commandments?  More like guidelines, really.  After all, you're hardly a good engineer if you're always following the rules, right?  April Fools.

  


* * *

[1] Well, maybe not the FULL stories.  After all, we don't really know what the ant was thinking, when, returning with it's spoils from the giant's foodstores, this big black thing came out of nowhere and squashed it flat.  But as close to the full stories as I can get.

[2] Simply switching from Volkswagon Beetles to shuttlecraft hulls in odd places doesn't count as something new.*

[3] The funny thing is, it took over two hours for anyone to notice.  If Tucker hadn't taped the thing, we'd never know.  Which lead to another debate:  if you pull a prank and nobody notices, is the prank any good?

[4] Well, not Grievous mental harm.  Giving someone a nervous breakdown is not nice. 

[5] One person who is definitely on the DO NOT ATTEMPT list is Chef.  While engineers have been known to survive for decades on a diet of soda pop and potato chips, it is actually not the diet of choice.

                *(I've asked for help from a friend of mine at the University of British Columbia when it comes to ideas, but unfortunately for the last few years everything has tended to be a variation of the Beetle in high places theme.  So anyone with ideas… I will accept them gratefully, my email is listed, just say it's a prank idea in the subject box.  Thank you.)


	2. A New Look at Myself

            I've got a lot of things planned for this day, some of which I've been working on for weeks.  It's been almost a month since I reprogrammed the coffee makers, slowly reducing the caffeine levels until last week we've been running on merely the disillusionment of caffeine.  However, as of midnight, they've been pumping out a brew that has the level of a triple espresso in every cup.  Given how many cups the average engineer drinks… Well it's not even the end of the night shift and already I've seen at least three people who are literally vibrating and/or bouncing off the walls.  By the time day-shift gets going… sometimes I'm evil enough to scare myself.

            I head on down to main engineering – dodging a few falling sludge buckets and shock traps along the way, who do these guys think they are anyway – and stop dead.  Two large pictures have been plastered across the warp engine, supposedly of me.  I mean it's my head, but for the body to be accurate (for the body to be _possible_) they'd have to shave at least six inches off the chest.  I also tend to wear more clothes.

            Immediately I know who's responsible:  the only two idiots who think stuff like this is still funny.  Crewmen Bryson and Higgens have been a source of frustration since day… since about day .0000001.  Commander Tucker and I have whiled away many a pleasant hour fantasizing about how we'd get rid of them – they're too well politically connected to simply cut them out of the crew.  Personally, I do like his idea of re-working 'The Cask of Amontillado', and walling them up in a maintenance shaft somewhere.  Maybe it would give them a chance to find out just how in love with each other they really are.  If not, we can always just chop up the bodies and place them in the stores under "Emergency Rations."  It'd probably be the first useful position either one of them has ever held.

            "Very good, gentlemen."  No point in ignoring it, I'd have to be blind or unconscious for that to be anywhere near believable, "However, it's hardly that original.  People have been manipulating images that way for almost two centuries now. Surely you could have come up with something a little different…"

            The rest of the crew cracks up, unable to help themselves.  Part of it's the extra caffeine, and the other is the fact that – as much as Bryson and Higgens are oblivious to it – nobody really likes those two.  Bryson, always faster on the uptake, laughs a bit too, but it's obviously fake.  Neither one makes any move to take it down though, and I don't make them.  The whole thing fizzled the second I _didn't_ take offence, and I see that they hate me even more for it.  Good.  A life without enemies is simply uninteresting.

            Bitten staggers in, a look of pure hatred on his face when he sees me.  I can see that one eye is already puffing up a bit, but it's still no excuse for being a poor loser.

            "Hey, Lieutenant."  He glances up at the engine, then back at me. Seeing that I've been pranked seems to restore some of his perspective. "Just thought I'd come see how things were going for you."  He makes a show of looking at the pictures now; suddenly I'm glad I left them up.  Shows everybody how the game is supposed to be played, and the fact that no one is immune.  I mean if _I_ don't punish a pair of subordinates (not that I say that word within hearing range of Bryson or he'd say something disgusting) for what qualifies as a clear violation of anti-harassment guidelines, how can anybody else claim about the innocuous stuff that makes up the bulk of what we do.  "Looking good, I see."  One of the things I've never been good at is the whole officer/enlisted thing.  I tend to take people on an individual basis: not fraternizing per say, but the ability to carry on a conversation like human beings.

            I shrug.  "Nah.  Personally, I think they could've done a better job.  I mean the resolution's pretty shitty, don't you think? And there's no _way_ my thighs look like that.  I'd _kill_ myself if I ever packed on that much cellulite."

            Out of the corner of my eye I see Bryson change colour.  Apparently, he's not taking well to a critique of his favourite model.  Bitten gives me a wink, and I realise he's known about this for a while:  his revenge isn't directed at me, but at them.  He's been their target more than once, for reasons humanity is supposed to be long past.

            "And black leather with _that_ complexion?  I know you've got way more taste than that."  Bitten shakes his head while the other two whisper behind his back.  I see the looks they're giving him, and it's not nice.  On the other hand, he's survived them for this long.  They know if they go too far then even Mommy and Daddy can't save them.  But if I get involved on a protector level (which as an officer I'm entitled to do) I destroy any credibility Bitten has.  Not to mention spoiling his fun.

            "Like fairy-boy would know a woman when he saw it."  Did I mention Higgens has a tendency to be stupid?  "Goddamn…"

            I spin around just as Bryson has the foresight to physically lift Higgens and drag him away to a safer location, probably on another deck.  I don't take kindly to violations of the second commandment (and I don't mean the ones I mentioned earlier). It's something I thought everybody onboard the ship learned the day I slapped Commander Tucker and knocked two of his teeth out. [1]  _That_ was for saying J---- C-----, after dropping a wall panel on his fingers.  _Profanity_ I can handle, anything humans want to get up to is okay with me as far as "bad language" goes (shit, I use enough of it myself) but C2 explicitly states that _Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain:  For the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain._  My momma raised me with those commandments in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, and I don't mean she was making breakfast.  The Commander may be Southern, but I was brought up Southern _Gothic_. 

            After the threat of a serious beating on Higgens is over – if I won't violate C2, do you really see me busting C5?  (Some people call it splitting hairs, this line between violence and death, then again, most Hesses grow up to be lawyers[2]) -- things start getting back to normal, or as normal as they can around here today.  Someone takes the posters down (too bad, I was kind of flattered, actually), and Commander Tucker shows up to start the dayshift.

            "Where do you think you're going, Lieutenant?"  It's not a question you want to hear from your commanding officer, not on a day like this.

            "Off shift?  That is how things are scheduled for the day, isn't it?"

            He shakes his head.  "Sorry.  I've got three people in sickbay with minor injuries, and one who had a major allergic reaction.  We need the extra coverage."  He's not smiling when he says this, but he's also a magician of a poker player.  Probably because he plays Go for fun, which is not generally the sign of a sound mind, but is an indication of one that tends to think on odd, inscrutable angles.  Sighing, I return back to my station.

            "Um, not exactly."  He comes over, hands me a datapad.  

            I take one look, and hand it back.  "Not all that funny, sir."

            He gives it back to me. "Do I look like a man who's joking, Lieutenant?"

            I give it back.  "Honestly, sir, with your face it's hard to tell.  But this hardly seems like a reasonable work schedule."  Another reason why we like Commander Tucker.  He lets us have an opinion.

            He presents it to me again.  "Like I said, you're taking the work of four people, Lieutenant.  It's going to be a long list."

            Back to him.  "I fail to see why _me_, sir.  Regulations specifically state…"

            Over to me.  "This is not a union ship, Hess.  I am perfectly entitled to give you a double shift.  No overtime."

            Back to him.  "I _can_ refuse to work it."

            To me. "And be confined to quarters for insubordination."

            To him.  "Fine with me, sir.  I can use the sleep."  Not to mention that my quarters are pretty well outfitted with a kick ass entertainment system that includes stereo, game console, widescreen, mini-fridge and wet bar, plus all the books I can cram into a .3mX.3mX.3m space.

            To me.  "_My_ quarters, Hess.[3]"  He knows about the entertainment system, he helped me install it.

            To him.  "You can't make me do this, sir.  It's cruel and unusual."

            To me.  "I think the Constitution burned up in the War, Hess."

            To him.  "This isn't fair, sir."

            To me.   "Fair is a sunny day, Hess."

            I'm not doing it, I'm not doing it, there's no way I'm going to do it.

  


* * *

[1] You ask yourself:  if she slapped Commander Tucker that hard, why is she still his department second?  Why is she still in Starfleet at all?  Actually, it's not the possibility of me hitting him with a suit for harassment, it's more a case of Commander Tucker being a stand-up guy and taking his lumps.  Which is why we love him in the first place.

[2] I double majored law and engineering at the academy, so if anyone gets in trouble, I'm probably the best person for them to go to for help»

»Unless, of course, it's Bryson or Higgens.

[3] This is not a case of sexual harassment, or even the hint of it.  It's simply a variation on the old saw of  "Go to your room!  And no T.V., no video-games, and no colouring books either.  And no playing with your toys.  On second thought, go to _my_ room."  Parents can be _so_ annoying.


	3. The Dangers of Letting Down Your Guard

            Disclaimer:  These are not my characters, at least not most of them.  This story is for entertainment purposes only.  I hope it works.  Please R&R.

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            I'm doing it.  There is no match for that man when it comes to stubbornness; if ever his head's knocked into the wall, we first look to see how much damage has been done to the wall.  Not only that, but he's drinking out of thermos mug today, just goes to show how much he trusts us (okay, probably me).  Honestly, if you don't go to bed if you want to beat me… well, you might consider never ever even sitting down if you want to put something past him.  While there may be varying opinions as the intellectual capabilities of our beloved leader, let me tell you this:  he misses nothing.  Unless, of course, you get a beautiful humanoid female (species optional) in front of him.  Then you could parade a circus, an army, and an entire cadre of werewolves playing bongo drums past, and he won't notice a thing.  Until the day you try it on purpose.  Bastard.

            Meanwhile, there's me, sitting here in an access conduit, trying to track down a phantom power glitch that never pops up in the same place twice.  Item number two on my never ending list (_an_ extra shift?  Who is he kidding?  I could be here until I mummify and still not get finished) that supposedly is no joke.  About partway through, it occurs to me.  Slimy son-of-a-bitch is using me to check for traps.  Rather than take the risk of running into something _himself_, he's found a stalking horse that no one else will complain about.  Ohh, the nerve of that guy, the insensitivity of that guy, the _brains_ of that guy.  As much as I'd like to bash them in, I have to admit I admire his strategy.

            This only makes me more resentful, because I didn't think of it first.  _I_ of course would have used Bryson and Higgens, which only makes me wonder:  what did I do to piss Commander Tucker off?  There's nothing I can think of, unless it's my suggestion a few weeks back that we leave him out of it this year in deference to his recent loss.  Like Ensign Mayweather, he probably took it as an insult.

            _Well sorry for respecting you sir, I'll remember not to do that again in the future._  Sheesh.  Try to do somebody a favour, and look how they repay you.  I should've gone for the black mark, it's not like they can send me home _now_.

            Down below I can hear MACO Major Hayes exhorting his men to be faster, tougher, and (given some of his instructions) stupider.  If you're questioning the wisdom about holding a practical jokes contest in the middle of a war, I recommend M*A*S*H*.  Either the Altman film or the television series will provide sufficient explanation.

            I finish up my current task (well, kind of.  I don't actually track down the phantom, but I know it's not here anymore), and move on.  If His Majesty questions, I'll remind him just who wrote the list and expected it to all get done, and the folly of wasting time on impossible questions when easier ones wait on the test.  Actually I'm kind of glad if he's putting himself in the game, because we were worried about him for a bit.  Rostov and I actually took turns with a twenty-four hour watch before the Commander finally started sleeping again.  People can say what they want about how he did it, but if he sleeps, so can I.

            Next stop takes me by the armoury.  I'm not quite sure what to expect:  _technically_ Lieutenant Reed's people don't qualify under the engineering label, but there's enough overlap in modern weapons systems and modern engineering to make that a very big technical.  And honestly, I don't trust Lieutenant Reed too much.  It's always the quiet ones that get you, the ones you never think to check.  Add in the fact that as Chief of Security he pretty much has access to every part of the ship… Let's just say I'm a little cautious.

            Doesn't seem like much here, a door that's not closing properly, but as a veteran of many prank days I've learned that non-closing doors are a very bad thing.  Needless to say I'm armoured to the teeth on this one:  heavy gloves, hard-hat, rain-slicker (people always forget the basics), and well, my boots.

            If you want to identify the engineers[1] on any given ship – Starfleet or no – don't look for any insignia or colour-code on their uniform.  Colour codes change all the time, and insignia really don't mean anything.  Nope, the dead giveaway is the boots.  Most crew wear general-issue boots, you may find security in a combat version.  But an engineer's boots… an engineer would rather part with their dominant hand than their boots.  Reinforced past the point of apparent practicality with the toughest metal going (simple steel _toes_ went out with the last century), heavy duty slip-resistant, shock-resistant, chemical resistant soles, unbreakable laces with lace-locks, and generally a custom moulded fit.  We spend our lives in these boots[2], they've got to be comfortable.  Mine have got cage style reinforcing all around the foot with built-in shock absorbers, custom orthotic insoles, lined with the latest in temp controlling moisture wicking fabric, and are definitely water, acid, alkali, and oil repellent.  There's mini electromagnets in the outer soles in case of accidental gravity loss.  Oh, and they're scuff resistant too.  I want to be buried with these boots, I don't even intend to will them to my (future) children.

            "I'm sorry, Nic.  Given the day, I'm sure you can understand why I'm a little leery about working on this myself."  He may be apologetic, but that doesn't make me inclined to trust him.

            "Yeah, but why _me_, Malcolm?  I thought we got along okay.  Is there any particular reason you figured _I_ should be doing this?"

            He looks at me, puzzled.  "I didn't pick you.  I just sent Commander Tucker a work order.  To be honest I'm a little surprised he sent you."

            I'm not.  "To be honest with you, our esteemed leader is his normal freaky self today.  I think he's being passive aggressive and getting back at me for something I said a long time ago.  Take my advice, don't insult the man, he saves up."

            "Surely not," I can see a smile twitching at his lips.  Clearly he's trying to put the aggressive-aggressive image he's got of the Commander and match it up with my more accurate depiction. "I've never once noticed…"

            "Believe me.  I've got a ten page to-do list, and that's not counting the details.  And it's all stuff like this.  Prank bait."  So far I haven't touched the door, haven't even scanned it.  Things like this, it's best to go slow.

            The com system chimes.  "Hess." Speak of the… "Are you still in the armoury?  There's stuff piling up here if you haven't noticed."  Coward, he stays hiding on the far side of the intercom.  He's not the one in danger of… well, I certainly don't know what.

            "I'm working on it, sir.  If you would like things to move faster, perhaps I might have some help?"  Perhaps _you_ would like to come down here and give me a hand sir?  And something a little more than clapping?  Futile thoughts, because if he had any inclinations that way he _would_ be here, little control freak that he is.

            "I'm sure you can handle it just fine, Hess.  That's why I picked you as my SIC."

            "You picked me as your SIC because I'm the only one who can understand your handwriting."  Malcolm grins again at my mutterings.  One good thing about Lieutenant Reed is that I have an ally in keeping Mr. Tucker's ego in check.  He'll skewer the Commander first chance too.

            "I _heard_ that, Hess.  I think I said something earlier about a union ship…"  How come he always sounds so reasonable when he's not?  How come he always comes out looking like the good guy?

            "Well sir, I don't like to bear false witness.  But like I said, if you'd like to give me some help here, sir, it's greatly appreciated."  Because right now your SIC is starting to feel a little SIC_K_, if you catch my drift.

            "I don't think there's anyone more capable of handling it than you, Lieutenant."  That voice could smother a legion of flies, it's so honey thick.  It's all I can do to keep my hands from heading back to Engineering and strangling him of their own accord.  _Honestly, sir.  I didn't do it intentionally.  My hands were completely out of my control.  No sir, I don't know how that happened.  I'm going to go to my quarters and take a nice rest now, sir._  Yeah, like they'd buy that.  Well, maybe.  They work with him too.

            Well, there's not a lot more prevaricating I can do. Carefully I peer around the edge of the door, looking for a problem.

            There is none. Nothing holding the door back, no reason why it shouldn't close.  I run a quick scan of the software.  Nothing.  This is going to be one of those days…  I close my eyes, trying not to think bad thoughts.  There's a slight hiss…

            The door closes fine.  And on the part that was hidden is written in an impeccable script:  April Fools.  And Malcolm is laughing his ass off.

  


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[1] Or at least the _competent_ ones.

[2] And occasionally dropping things on them.


	4. Don't Mess With a Messy Hess

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, this is for entertainment purposes only.

A little violence here, don't read if you don't like that sort of thing, but I _did_ rate this thing R.

Don't Mess With A Messy Hess 

Okay, I got nailed on that one. The classic 'keep 'em worried, and have nothing happening but them getting worked up' ploy. Not used too much nowadays, mainly because it's so hard to properly pull off. But nobody suspects innocent, _proper_, Malcolm Reed[1], which makes it so effective. I came in prepared for anything, and he hits me with nothing. Ouch.

It takes about a minute for him to get himself under control, to stop laughing. "If you could've seen your face. I couldn't have asked for anything more than that." Seeing the new look on my face, he sobers. "Don't worry about it, Nic. When I woke up this morning, all my underwear was switched with Ensign Caine's.©" He indicates a small woman who definitely needs garments that if Malcolm were wearing… no, the thought is too ridiculous even for my mind. And when you take into account what a legendary light sleeper Malcolm is…

"Lemme guess. You're thinking…"

"The incorrigible housebreaker, the immortal five-year-old…"

"…Commander Charles Tucker the Third." We make a good chorus. And though a great many people may have thought of the idea, only Himself has the wherewithal to pull it off. If it had happened to anyone else, I wouldn't be so sure, but with Malcolm as the victim (and being in his quarters while it happened), well, only one person we know is that gutsy.[2]

"You know, one day he's going to push it too far, and even that sweet, baby-face innocent smile won't save him."

"Yeah." Malcolm nods, but I can tell he can't see exactly where that point is going to be. "Problem is, he'll just find some other way out of it. He always does."

I know. So far, his best trick is taking responsibility. I know what you're thinking, _how does he get out of it if he says he's at fault?_ Well, people assume it's all okay, then. That revenge would be somehow_ wrong_ at that point. This leaves a girl like me frustrated and out of sorts. Other women lust over the possibility of going to bed with Commander Tucker, I lust over the possibility of knocking him off his little pedestal. Though if he knew he was on one he'd probably just jump. I hope when he does, he breaks a toe.

I pack up my things and get ready to head out, when a thought occurs to me. I may not be able to nail _Commander Tucker_ just yet, but even a mild revenge has its charm.

"Oh, Malcolm." I blink innocently, which should give him a big clue. "I hope you used a washable ink on that door, otherwise Captain Archer is going to pitch a fit when he sees it."

His face congeals; I can see he didn't think of that detail. He looks back at the door, and I can see his stomach heading towards his boots. 

"Good luck with that, then." I make sure I'm well down the hall before grinning. Don't mess with the master.

Yeah, I know, given what I'm planning I should listen to myself. But pause for a moment and look at all the great dynasties of the past: Greece, Rome, the Montreal Canadiens, they all have one thing in common. None of them are so great anymore. Sure, they had their day, but then someone younger and hungrier than them came along and took over. Problem with number one is that everybody's gunning for you, and given my performance in last year's Great Watergun War[3] Mr. Tucker should be one very worried number one indeed.

Item number three: plasma conduit cleanout. This _should_ be a job for maintenance, but it looks like the commander tried to handle the paperwork himself again, because it doesn't look like anyone's worked on it in a while. Plasma is technically defined as energized matter, which simply means that it is constantly on fire. And anyone who deals with fire on a regular basis will tell you that where there's fire there's residue. Consider a plasma conduit like a giant chimney. If you let that residue build up inside, it's like having a heavy creosote coating on the flue. Sooner or later it's going to ignite, and it's a bitch to put out, _if_ you even can. _Remind me to have a word with him, **again**_. I swear, if it were up to him, there would be no paperwork, no requisition orders, nothing. And while that makes a nice fantasy, the reality is that _someone_ has to do the record keeping. The truth is, Commander Tucker is a wonderful leader, but he's a lousy manager. Every now and then though, he makes an attempt at it (probably thinking that he's doing me a favour) and it takes me days to sort out the damage.

Yeah, I know. I should do something absolutely evil regarding the paperwork, right? Well, allow me explain to you why evil people will always be superior to the nice ones: _we understand it's not a good thing to screw ourselves over_. Sure, it would be pleasant to see that look of helpless desperation on his face as he stares at a bureaucratic snarl, but I'm going to be the one that ends up unsnarling it. I know I am, because I always do. The SIC's _job_ is largely paperwork, so that the CIC doesn't have to be bogged down in it. Take Admiral Forrest for example. Do you think he really spends his days drawing up duty rosters and ordering repairs on Starfleet Headquarters? No. His aides do that stuff for him, leaving him free to do whatever it is that Admirals actually do, like inspiring the troops and looking good for the news cameras.

No, what I have in the back of my mind is far worse than that. With the paperwork scam, people would just feel sorry for him. The whole point of this is for people to _laugh_ at him. Or the very least for him to laugh at himself.

Maybe though… paperwork does have a certain charm. Not paperwork in general, but what it _represents_. Or rather, what comes through in the paperwork. Hmn… I'll have to consider this.

In the meantime, I have to shut down this conduit, and clean it by hand. It's easier to do while the walls of the pipe are still hot: it reminds me of a job I had back in high-school. Crawling head-first into a still cooking-temperature oven and scrubbing the sides with a combination of noxious, corrosive chemicals that tend to vaporize on first contact, requiring a third and fourth application. Now you can either follow all the safety protocols (filter-mask, heavy gloves, chemical-resistant overcoat), and rotisserie yourself, or you just go in and risk a few burns and a whiff or two of noxious fumes. Conscientiously I have to recommend the first alternative, but tend to default to the second.[4] I think Freud referred to it along the lines of the death-wish, taking risks to prove you're not afraid. Myself, I think it's a case of immediate comfort versus possible future consequence. I'll take mild chem burns over heat-stroke any day. And if Phlox ever hears that, he'll kill me. Get in line, Doc.

It takes about two hours, and when I finally emerge, sweat-soaked and covered in gunk, I am not in a good mood. Which means Corporal Cole has a really lousy sense of timing.

"I don't know what you assholes think you're up to, but I want it to stop. I'm going to Major Hayes, and if necessary Captain Archer, do you understand?" She's covered in something herself, looks like whipped cream with sprinkles. On any other day I'd wonder what she'd been up to (and why she'd head out in public without a shower afterwards) but this being April Fools the explanation is probably a lot more complicated. "In case you haven't noticed this is a serious mission…"

"_Look_. This is not a good time, and I am not a good person." Right now, I don't give a damn if she _is_ doing the Commander, my opinion of him is not at its highest right now. My temper doesn't have a long fuse at the best of times, and now I'm tired, hot and dirty. I've just spent two hours on a job that should have been done weeks ago, and isn't really my responsibility anyway.

She steps forward in a clear attempt to intimidate.[5] I know her reputation, I've heard all about those training sessions Malcolm and Hayes are working on together, but haven't felt the need to show up. If attacked, it's not me I'm worried about. "I'm sick and tired of you half-assed Starfleet…" Her shoulder tenses and drops slightly, looks like she's getting ready to throw a punch, she's mad enough to do it.

I flick my eyes upward, just over her left shoulder.[6] Reflexively she starts moving that way to see what it is I'm looking at, at which point I nail her with a _mae geri_ (front snap kick) to the shin. Remember the boots I mentioned earlier? Do I need to mention I'm still wearing them? And that all that reinforcing is a nasty thing when it connects at high speed with someone's badly braced shin bone? And that if someone does that to you, 'crack' is not a good thing?

I give her credit for being tough. Air hisses between her teeth, but not much else. On the other hand, her body automatically collapses to protect the injured limb, putting her head in precisely the right place for _hiza geri_ (up), a kick that involves my knee and her nose. Just in case she's stupid enough to keep going, I sweep her now unresisting feet from underneath her, and drop her on her ass. From there, she falls easily enough to her back, and I take the opportunity to plant my foot on her throat. Lightly.

"Like I said, not a good time. I am in a very _bad_ mood right now, and I don't think you'll find a person on this ship who'll back you up at this moment." Commander Tucker won't, his first loyalty is always his own people, and I don't think Hayes will be too happy about the way she went down, either. Personally, neither am I. I _should_ have been able to handle the situation without getting violent, but there are times when brain shuts down and pissed off takes over.[7] If you ever see me getting very, very calm and using small and very simple words that even an idiot could understand, _run_.

Oh, did I mention I'm black-belt rated in three different martial arts? That while Hesses become lawyers, the VanHelsings off my mother's side tend to be cops? On the ERT squads? That I have five older brothers who wanted me safe, so taught me how to take care of myself? Commander Tucker may have shown up at his sister's school, my brothers made sure they didn't have to.

"Don't say anything. Don't nod, don't shake your head. If you understand me, just blink."

She blinks twice, slowly. The smart, bravado move. Smart, because it shows an understanding that she's beaten. Bravado because she doesn't want me to think she's scared.

"And don't be thinking about getting even. The reason I haven't shown up at your little playground sessions is that I don't want anybody getting hurt. You guys are good, I'll give you that, but I don't think fighting is something you play at. Come at me again and you're going to be a lot more than simply inconvenienced like you are now. Understand?"

She blinks again, this time with a little less sarcasm.

"Good." I take my foot off her throat and page sickbay to come pick her up. I'm not taking her, I've got too much work to do. Right after I shower.

* * *

[1] Okay, so I said that _I_ didn't trust him. But I also didn't expect him to pull something like _this_.

© Thanks to Exploded Pen for this one. You gave me the basic idea. And you thought it wouldn't work…

[2] Or maybe just that stupid. Or impulsive. We're talking a fine line here.

[3] Which is a story for a later time. I promise. No fooling.

[4] However, it comes with a caveat: Anything happens, and you're not compo covered. They don't pay for stupidity.

[5] Not a good idea when you're covered in foodstuffs. Just a hint. ( At least mine is good _honest_ gunk.)

[6] Recall I said stupid? Never _ever_ watch the eyes. A good opponent can fake you out with the eyes anytime. Watch the _centre_. Once that commits, the body has to follow. 

[7]At the same time, when faced with a threat from a well-trained enemy, it's also not a good idea to just stand there and let them take a crack at you. Never _start_ a fight, but that doesn't mean you have to let them hit you. 


	5. Big Mistake

Did I say shower? Dare I even attempt, dare I even dream of something so mundane as cleaning up? Might that be possible? Sure, if you're not working for a sadistic minded asshole. I barely get three steps beyond the com before he's pestering me again.

"Hess. I don't even want to know what you did to Corporal Cole; I just want to know why you're wasting time like this. What part of 'we are short-handed today' don't you understand?"

I can see Cole's lips turning up in a grin. She thinks I'm in trouble.

"I think it's the 'we' part, sir. I somehow seem to be the only person with an extra workload today. In fact, I distinctly recall Neimanen and Rose talking about how 'easy' they have it today. And why am I doing maintenance duties when I just saw three maintenance techs enjoying a nice day off?"

"Yours is not to reason why, Lieutenant. Yours is to finish the damn list. The clock is ticking, you know."

"I thought you weren't paying me overtime, sir?" I'm enjoying this, partly because Cole now looks so confused. "And if you ever say that again…"

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, and _God_damn. You want to hit me again?" He sounds all too cheerful at the prospect. Cole on the other hand seems to be wondering what planet he dropped into Florida from. _Her_ c.o. wouldn't take this kind of back-talk from his people. And from her response, I think the gossip channels have got this one wrong. No _way_ she's boinking the commander, at least not on a regular basis. Otherwise she'd have a better idea of his twisted sense of humour.

No, that is not from personal experience. Rule number one in the Nic Hess dating manual: the more lust-worthy he is, the friendlier you keep him. _My_ personal experience is based on having five brothers just as good (if not better) looking than he is. Aside from drilling me in how to look after myself, they also taught me about what bastards men can be.[1] Not that I haven't _thought_ about it (what upright, breathing heterosexual woman within visual distance _doesn't_) but I think I respect the guy too much as a human being. Or maybe I just know my limitations. Besides, to get around the regulations on that (and yes there are ways around it) would only involve more paperwork. And I think I mentioned who does all the paperwork around here. I am not delving into that nightmare just for a few interesting minutes. Or hours, as the case may be…

Sorry. Happens. Anyway, as you can probably guess, my current argument gets me about as far as the others. I know, at this point, that he is definitely up to _something_, though what that something is, I refuse to speculate. All I know is that HE MUST PAY. Exactly what that currency is going to be, I'm not sure yet, but I'm going to figure one out. In the mean time, my hair is congealing to the point that I think I'm going to have to cut it off just to get this shit out of it.

A couple more, minor, sundry, shouldn't-even-be-my-job items follow on the list. Along the way I hear bits and pieces of things that well, shit, I wish I'd thought of myself.

For instance: Cole is not the only MACO personnel involved in today's events, though she seems to have taken it the worst. Corporal Meese got shanghaied into a variation of the switch routine. Seems some people who must remain nameless[2] switched him and Ensign Sato during the night. Rather than taking the time and energy to change around all the furniture, our intrepid heroes simply switched the occupants. This, while less time consuming, is probably the more complicated option. It also goes to show how well this day is understood on this ship: two crewmembers can walk through the halls from opposite sides (and ends) of the ship, encountering who knows how many people along the way, all the while carrying two _sleeping_ crewmembers, and NOBODY SAYS ANYTHING. Seems Meese took it a way better than Cole did, because apparently he's been laughing about it all day[3]. _His_ comment is that he's finally beginning to feel accepted around here. I hate to break it to him that it was his roommate's complaints about his snoring that made him a target. So I won't. Captain Archer did say we're supposed to play nice with those guys.

As I work, I am showered with encouragement from my beloved leader, mostly along the lines that I'd better pick up the pace if I want to be done by dinner. I remind him that I haven't eaten in about seven hours now, and that if he keeps this up, he will be done _like_ dinner. Oh, and did I mention I'm the type of cook who knows she's done when the smoke detector goes off?

He cuts me off at that point, not even deigning to continue the debate. Odd, since he started it, but at least it gives me some peace and quiet to work in.

The next thing on my list is one big mistake. Ostensibly it involves merely going all the way back to the stern, and repairing a circuit juncture that seems to have blown out. Though, it hasn't _actually_ blown out, it's disappeared. Fortunately, it's a minor circuit juncture, IF you consider the recycling systems minor. A couple of years ago, the commander had to answer a question for some school kids, regarding the recycling system[4]. Now consider for a moment that Enterprise generates over a tonne of sewage waste in a good day (in other words, one when nobody's sick), in addition to all the other types of waste you find in a small self-contained city. Now, remember Newton's law: Matter/Energy cannot be created or destroyed, merely transformed. Thus, we can either discharge the waste (which then pollutes the universe), or we can recycle it, and obtain things that are necessary for the continued function of the ship. To put it another way, it's a good thing this little theft was discovered, or otherwise I would not be the only one knee deep in shit around here, if you catch my meaning.

This theft bugs me. For one thing, the work is very neat, meaning someone who knew what they were doing lifted the thing. There are two things wrong with this. One: if it's this neat, it was done by an engineer (or someone with decent skill at it), and they should know better. Two: no engineer would need to _steal_ the circuit juncture; they'd simply shut it down (making for a quick fix), or – if they needed the parts – would simply _get the materiel out of the supply closet_. Meaning, that this was either deliberate, malicious, or both.

A closer look confirms my suspicions. Not only was it a neat job, but our thief considerately re-routed the system, so that everything stays functioning. I impale my lower lip on my teeth, just to keep from saying (and doing) something I really shouldn't.

"Oh, Hess."

"I'm not speaking to you sir."

"I think you are, Hess. I am your commanding officer after all."

"I quit, sir."

"You can't quit." He says it with such finality, such absolute belief. "It's not like you can go anywhere, and we don't have civilians on the ship. Not only that, but I seem to have lost the paperwork."

That's okay, I can do it myself.

"No, you can't do it yourself." When did _he _become psychic? "And anyway, I don't see Captain Archer signing off on it. Because if you quit, that means a court-martial for desertion…" He's right, the bastard, "And we don't have the time to waste on something like that."

I'm still not speaking to him. If I do, I will get court-martialed anyway.

"Actually, Hess, it looks like Baker and O'Neill will be able to return to duty, so I'm giving them the rest of your list. I'm still going to need you back here in Engineering…" Oh, bless the man for finally slipping up. This one is going to be sweet.

"I'll be there in a minute sir." And I will. Oh, I will. There's just a stop I have to make along the way…

* * *

[1] They actually did this on purpose. Apparently it was to protect me from having my heart broken, and them from having to dismantle the guy who broke my heart. It's so nice to have a loving family.

[2] _That_ is one of the big things. THOU SHALT NOT REVEAL WHODUNIT. Hypothetically, I'd have to say Rostov and Mayweather, but that's only hypothetically.

[3] Seems Ensign Sato has been speaking Klingon to Ensign Mayweather all day, but it's hard to say whether or not it's related. I _do_ know she's been insulting him.

[4] Remind me to find that kid and pay him. Scuttlebutt says the look on Mr. Tucker's face…


	6. Unable to Believe But disbelieving not w...

DISCLAIMER: These are not my characters. This story is for entertainment purposes ONLY.

There are (of course) a few snickers as I walk into main Engineering, five, possibly ten minutes late. I know what I look like, I caught my reflection on the way down, but somehow, it's not all that amusing.

"Hess." He doesn't even look up from his work. Perfect. "You're late, you were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Ten by my watch, sir. Now what is it in particular you want me to do?" I've walked up behind him now, close enough to bite. Which, while tempting, isn't what I have in mind. I hear some of the giggles turn to whispers; they can see the small sack I'm holding behind me.

He turns around, looks me over. "Shower and change would be good. As you stand you are a disgrace to the uniform…"

I don't let him finish, simply swing the bag around and let the contents spill over his head. A pound and a half of kitchen waste, all of it held up because of his little game with the recycler. Okay, not exactly a prank, but I want to be sure he gets the message. And the execution is important, done wrong and he could've stopped me. "I believe the same could be said of you, sir." Vegetable peelings have slipped down his collar, and something gooey is dripping off his ear. There's onions in the mix, and I can see the tears beginning to form in his eyes.

He reaches a hand up, and runs it through his hair, dislodging some shrimp tails. "Very funny, Hess." He picks a couple of pieces loose, and drops them down the front of my uniform. He then proceeds to wipe his hands off on my sleeves. Where they stick.

"Sorry about that sir, I don't know how that adhesive got there." I manage to wriggle my way out of the coveralls, and while it means I'm standing in the middle of main Engineering in only a T-shirt and my underwear, at least I've got my hands free. Which is more than he can say.

I ignore the whistles, I've heard worse. Commander Tucker on the other hand, has to figure out how to do anything while attached by both hands to an empty pair of coveralls. Not to mention being covered in garbage. There's an undercurrent running through engineering at the moment, two powerhouses have collided, and no one's sure what's going to happen. Commander Tucker looks for a moment like he could either kiss me or kill me.

Very slowly, deliberately, he walks over and plants a kiss on my forehead. Which wouldn't have been too bad, except he then shakes his head, giving me another dose of rubbish. The grins are wider now, this could turn into anything.

"_Ahem_." Everyone jumps at the sound of a cleared throat; that is never a good sound. Captain Archer stands at the door, staring at the two of us with a look of disapproval laid over fury. "Commander. Lieutenant. My ready room if you please. _Now_."

We hustle, neither one quite daring to look at the other. Maybe we went a little too far with this one, or maybe the inclusion of Hayes' people into the mix didn't go over so well. I'm not sure which, and I don't think the commander is either. Neither one of us is concerned about looking very dignified: right now it would be close to impossible.

We enter Archer's ready-room, seconds behind the captain himself. He doesn't sit down, instead he begins to pace, which is a bad sign.

"Commander. Lieutenant." Also not a good sign: he's using our titles and not our names. With me, I could sort of understand, but Commander Tucker is always 'Trip' to the captain, unless he's in trouble.

"I am not even going to waste my time asking why, when I enter engineering to speak with my chief engineer, I find him, and his second-in-command covered in god knows what," – I don't lose it, this _is_ my captain speaking -- "half dressed, and generally acting like a pair of two year olds." His voice rises to a shout on the last three words; I can see Commander Tucker wince. I feel for him, this is his mentor, someone he idolizes, screaming at him. In fact, if it were the commander truly screaming at me (though he's not the type), I'd feel the same way. I also note that we are being granted less emotional maturity than Major Hayes and Malcolm after their fight.

"Sir…" He's about to take responsibility again, I know it. So, unfortunately does Captain Archer.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear any excuses, any apologies, _any_ of it? Clear?"

Commander Tucker nods, he looks like he's genuinely about to cry now. I can even see his lower lip trembling. He's one of those people who truly _cares_ what others, especially authority figures, think about him. I, on the other hand don't. I _do_ however, care about other people getting hurt. While not the maternal type, I have this motherly urge right now to kick Captain Archer's ass and give the commander a comforting hug, so much does this look like a father losing it on a small, eager to please son. I don't, however, because I know that Commander Tucker's a big boy and can look after himself.

"What I truly want to know, however, is how two members of your team came to be trapped behind a starboard bulkhead. They claim to have been working on a repair problem when the wall panel was replaced behind them."

It's all I can do not to gasp, not to react. He didn't, he _didn't_.

"May I ask who those members happened to be?" The commander sounds so perfectly innocent, so absolutely ignorant as to who it could be.

"Crewman Alan Bryson and Crewman Lawrence Higgens. I don't suppose those names are unfamiliar to you?" The sarcasm in Captain Archer's voice could be used as a blunt weapon.

"No sir, they are not. I am well aware of which crewmembers they are, sir. I will look into it immediately sir." Commander Tucker continues looking straight ahead, doesn't even glance at me.

I could kiss him. It's like an early birthday and Christmas present, all wrapped up with a shiny ribbon and a big, fancy bow. And to think I was so untrusting, so unworthy as to pour garbage all over his head. I will apologise, I will kiss his feet, I will do all his laundry and housekeeping for a year.

The captain stops at me, looking straight into my face, my eyes. Silly boy, I can fake anyone with the eyes.[1]"Did you," he says slowly and clearly, "Have you, did you, or do you have anything to do with – or any knowledge whatsoever of -- this, Lieutenant?"

Okay, now he's pushing it. It's one thing to ask me if I did it (and I can say no), but the way he's phrased the question, he's asking me to incriminate the commander if I can. And _that_ is something I won't do. Nohow.

I stare right back at him, don't answer.

"Lieutenant?" He's not accepting the silent treatment. "I would like an answer from you."

"Sir…" Commander Tucker tries again, gets about as far.

"I do believe the lieutenant is capable of answering for herself, commander. Unless her faculties have somehow been stricken from her?"

"I am invoking my right to remain silent, sir." Which means that other than that phrase, he'll get name, rank and serial number out of me.

His eyebrows do a jump at my response, practically disappearing into his hairline. "Your right to remain silent, Lieutenant…" I can tell he wants to say I don't have that right, but he knows damn well I do. I can also see he's worked out the second, unsaid part of things. He can't force me to rat on Commander Tucker, because he can't prove I'm not the commander's legal rep. So not only do I have the right to remain silent regarding _my_ actions, I also have the _obligation_ to remain silent with regard to anything Commander Tucker might have told me. Which is absolutely zero, but the captain doesn't know that.

He tries for a few more moments to stare me down, but I haven't been playing Texas-Hold-'Em since I was twelve for nothing. And against lawyers, to boot. Eventually the captain gives up when his eyes begin to water.

"I seriously doubt Lieutenant Hess had opportunity to do what you are suggesting, sir. She has been rather busy all day, I had to com her several times, and at no time was she anywhere near the Starboard side of the ship…"

He's right. I never realised it, but all my tasks were well to the _port_ side, apart from the sojourn into the armoury. And as for the com calls…

_Witnesses_. It's the only explanation. He was setting me up with an alibi, so when those two got Amontillado'd, there was no way I could get nailed for it. Because I can practically guarantee that the first word out of their mouths when they were freed was 'Hess', or maybe 'Tucker'.

"… if you'd like to check the logs sir, I think you can see that they were all to locations…" Good bluff, but there's a problem with it.

"And what about _your_ location, Commander?" Bingo. Commander always said that the Captain's one of the few people who could beat him in a serious game.

"I believe the logs all have an originator location as well, sir." As in _"I was in main Engineering the whole time, sir."_ Except he couldn't have been, because I don't see him getting someone else involved and exposing them to this level of risk. Then it hits me: change the programming so that the computer _thinks_ all his calls are coming from his station. In other words, no matter where on the ship he _actually_ placed the calls from, they would all be tagged as from his desk. _Brilliant_.

He could do it too. We are talking about the guy who convinced Starfleet's computers that their NX prototype was still in the hangar when it was busting its way past the moon. If Admiral Forrest wasn't so experienced with engineers that he called for a hard-target confirmation, they might have actually been able to bring it back before anybody really noticed. Compared to that, call forwarding is a child's game[2].

I can see by Archer's face that he doesn't believe it, but doesn't have anything to get the Commander on. He _can't_ bring up the theft incident in front of me, because technically it never happened. What he doesn't realise is that I knew about the plan before it happened. Ostensibly we cooked it up as a what-if, fantasy scenario over coffee. The rest of us involved had no idea that the commander (then Lieutenant) was going to use it.[3] The fact that he proposed the exercise to us less than three hours before he engaged in his little appropriation is merely coincidental.

"Rest assured, Mr. Tucker," (ouch, _that_'s gotta hurt) "I will be checking. In fact, _I _will be handling the entire investigation of not only this incident, but any other complaints I have received throughout the day." He looks at me again when he says this, I can only think of Corporal Cole.

"I'm certain…"

"I'm certain that you've said rather enough, Commander. The two of you are confined to quarters until further notice, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." It comes out in perfect unison; we could be Midwich Cuckoos.

"Included in that is any form of communication with _any_ members of the crew _or_ the MACO contingent, _whatsoever_. I don't care if you're dying and want to contact Phlox. I don't care if your bed catches fire, or your cabin begins to decompress. You are not to leave, you are not to communicate. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Two hours pass, and I am too keyed up to even unwind. He _knows_ what this day is all about, his father was an engineer. Surely he's got to understand that it's all part of the game, that none of it is meant to hurt. I can only imagine how Commander Tucker feels, he's probably tracking the veins in his wrists right now. I _so_ want to bust out of here, and confess, even though I didn't do it, just to get the captain off the commander's case. It's so _stupid_, Bryson and Higgens can get away with _anything_, and someone as poorly connected (in the grander scheme of things) like the commander gets nailed for trying to create a little equity. It makes me want to kick something. Except then I'd probably get in trouble for that.

Even Evil Thing and Igor[4] are keeping their distance from me, which they almost never do. I feel sorry for them, having to put up with me this way, but there's not a lot I can really do about it. I am steamed, mainly because there's nothing in the world I can do – or hate more – than to wait. I sit down on the floor for a second to apologise to them when my desk console beeps. Insistently.

_What the heck?_ The captain did say no communication, right?

Well, I guess he wasn't counting himself in that number, because what appears onscreen is a long list of charges and disciplinary points, all formally laid out. From his opening address, it's clear that Commander Tucker has a similar, if not more lengthy document on his desk. I scroll down it, my heart sinking as I read. Every single one of these he can get us on, if he tries. He's laying every single incident today at our feet, on the basis that senior officers are responsible for the actions of their subordinates. I never would have guessed it about Archer – I mean he used to be a tight-ass, but years of hanging out with Commander Tucker supposedly fixed that – this level of sheer vindictiveness.

It's at the bottom, I almost miss it. Following the list of specifications is a nice little line for the charging officer's signature. And he _has_ signed it…

That scheming, rotten bastard. He got us. _He_ got _us_.

…_April Fool_.

########################################################################

Author's note. Soon to come: The Great WaterGun War. Just like I promised. Stay tuned.

* * *

[1] Just ask Corporal Cole.

[2] That is to say, a game designed by adults to be played by children. Any games designed by children have more complicated rules than you or I could ever imagine.

[3] It _was,_ however, nice to know the plan _worked_.

[4] Evil Thing from the Great Beyond and Igor are members of the feline and lagomorph species, respectively, which is not something that should ever be held against them. While we are not allowed to keep pets on Enterprise (somehow Porthos doesn't count), there was no way I was leaving them with my ex.


End file.
